


Lazy Daze

by kaclydid



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom, The Hobbit, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaclydid/pseuds/kaclydid
Summary: Thranduil's back seems a good enough place to write your missives and work when you don't want to leave the bed ... for a moment, anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr request of "using Thranduil's broad back as your writing desk when too lazy to get out of bed".

Thranduil sighed into your neck as you curled closer to him, lips leaving a trail of kisses along your skin as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Sighing yourself, you curled closer to your husband, content to spend the entire day in bed than to attend to your duties. 

“Thranduil,” you hummed, wrapping a tendril of his hair around your finger as you brought an arm up to his shoulder. “There’s much to be done …” you sighed, smiling as he pressed a chaste kiss just below your ear. 

He started to move, rolling away from his pillow and your arms. “Shh,” he cooed, starting from bed. “Stay in bed,” he started, hand trailing away along your leg covered by the thin sheets atop you.

You smirked, curling into the pillow to watch Thranduil stride across the room to where the writing desk sat. Quirking an eyebrow, you lifted your head a bit, wondering what your husband was up to. For a moment he stood at the desk, hands moving over papers and books, stacking them neatly with a quill and inkwell on top of the stack. 

You stifled a laugh as he turned, balancing the stack in his arms as he started back for the bed. “And what do you have in mind with all that?” you asked, watching as Thranduil walked back to his side of the bed, setting the items in the space between your pillows, setting the ink and quill off to the side before he sat back down on the bed. 

He only laid down, matching your own position, hugging his pillow under his head as he looked to you. With a smile, he nodded to the stack of paperwork between the two of you. “We’ve got reports and letters to write today, my dear. We are both too comfortable to leave this wonderful bed …”

Rolling to your side, resting your head on your hand as you dug your elbow into the pillow, you looked down to the items he had brought. There had been many nights when Thranduil sat up in bed, writing out missives as you laid next to him, most of the time using a spare quill feather to draw nonsense along his arms and legs, but never had you skirted your duties and remained in bed all day. 

“I haven't a desk to work on,” you said simply.

He chuckled, tossing his hair over his shoulder as he resettled into his pillow. At this angle, his cheek was squished up against the soft pillow, making him look less stoic and intimidating than usual. You had to chuckle as you brought your legs under you, reaching for the stack of papers. 

“You’ve brought work for you as well, I see,” you hummed, passing him one of the large tomes.

He resettled against the pillow, squashing the book into the softness so he could open it in front of his face. “Just reviewing while you write your letters,” he said simply.

Rolling your eyes, you reached over and plucked the quill and inkwell from the small table on his side of the bed. Setting up one of the remaining books and your parchment, you set to work. 

The moment quill met paper, you knew this was a bad idea. At the slight pressure of the sharp nib, Thranduil flinched, and a small blot of ink spread over the page. 

“Sorry,” Thranduil muttered at your chuckle.

You hummed as you looked over your husband. His back was broad when laid out like this, shoulders relaxed and stretched out as he laid on his pillow, hands folded beneath his chin. The muscles rippled under your parchment, creating a valley along his spine and lower back. 

“Do not even think about tickling me.” Thranduil’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts as you looked over him. 

Looking down to him, you idly took the quill feather and ‘accidentally’ ran it along his exposed side. “Now why would I do such a thing?” you asked, smiling at his very noticeable flinch. 

He turned his head just enough to glare at you, smile lighting his face. “Work first, fun later,” he reprimanded.

You hummed, turning back to your letter. As softly as you could, you began to write out the missive to the troops under your watch. With each new paragraph created, your hand became sore as you tried not to cut through the parchment or tickle your husband. 

After a full written page, the task was becoming harder. 

“Sod this,” you scoffed as your quill spluttered ink over your page once more, obscuring half the last paragraph you had just written. “I don’t understand how you get any work done when I let you do this,” you mumbled, crumpling the parchment up and tossing it to the foot of the bed. 

Thranduil’s laugh shook his entire frame and he moved his book away, rolling to his side to look up to you. “That is because,  _ meleth nin _ ,” he started, taking the quill from your hands. “I never get work done with you lying in bed … I’ve drawn much nonsense on parchments I’ll never throw out when I use your back as a writing desk.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. On the one hand surprised he would admit he couldn’t work, and on the other hand in awe that he had pages and pages of nonsense doodles and drawings stuffed in a drawer somewhere. The thought alone made you blush.

“Was this all a test, then, my dear King?” you asked. “A game to see how long I could hold out?” 

“Do I dare say yes?” Thranduil mused, eyes lighting up at the pout you wore. “Do I dare admit I didn’t want you to work at all and that this bed is made for just lounging … relaxing … loving embraces … and not sharp quills and inkwells?”

“Do I dare say you are a nuisance, my love?” you laughed, leaning down and pressing your lips to his. “I will forgive you for now, love,” you started, sitting back up and taking the book from his pillow as well as the parchment and setting it aside with your ink well. Taking the quill back from him, you ran it along his stomach. 

“I do not like to be tickled,” he said simply, after a loud bark of laughter from the softness caressing down his stomach. 

You lay back down, running the feather up to his chin. “I dare say you deserve it.” You laughed as he grabbed the quill from your hand, rolling atop you and pressing his lips against yours. 


	2. Lazy Daisies and Paper Roses

Morning sunlight spilled through the balcony doors, the sounds of the birds and breeze filling the calm. Slowly, your eyes cracked open as you stretched, hand finding a crumpled roll of parchment under your pillow.

Rolling onto your side, you found Thranduil’s side of the bed empty, the warmth from his body already gone from the sheets. Sighing, you rolled out from under the covers, pacing silently and gracefully across the stone floor to where you had discarded your dressing gown.

Usually, Thranduil woke you when breakfast was served just after dawn, but the amount and tone of the light drifting through the balcony curtains was not early morning light, and you knew you had slept longer than usual. Tying the sash of your robe tighter around your waist, you started for the door that would lead to the private parlor separating your room from your infant son’s.

Finding the room empty, save for the tray of fruit that must have been breakfast, you let out a short breath before you heard short snores coming from the other room.

The Prince was curled along the chest of none other than Thranduil. In one hand, Thranduil held a book, parchments dog eared and sticking out of the pages at random intervals, and in the other, laying limp against the armrest, he held the quill that accompanied the inkwell on the side table.

Standing in the doorway of your son’s room, you had to smile. Thranduil must have woken early to care for the little leaf, and upon being unable to get the elfling to fall back to sleep, had decided to try to do some work.

“Love,” you started, stepping forward as you pulled the book from his grasp, setting it aside before picking Legolas off his father’s chest. “Love, wake up.”

Thranduil murmured something about ‘guard rotations’ as he roused from his short nap, smiling up at you as Legolas nuzzled into your long hair. “Good morning, meleth,” he smiled, sitting straighter in the armchair.

You ran a finger along Legolas’s small fist as he subconsciously grabbed a hold of your robe. “You could have brought him into the other room,” you started. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

Thranduil shook his head slightly as he stood, heading into the parlor. “I was going to wait for you,” he answered. “I thought breakfast on the balcony, but then the little leaf started to fuss. Didn’t want to wake you.”

You chuckled, sitting down on the cushioned bench before the fire, cradling the baby prince in your arms. “Perhaps we could skirt our duties once more, today?” You smirked, hoping he would concede to any of your ideas. “We have been so busy … our son …” you trailed off as Legolas started to rouse.

Thranduil stood, picking the book and inkwell from the table before starting into the other room. He bypassed the cushions in the parlor, balancing the tray of fruits in his hand as he continued through to the bedroom.

You followed slowly, cooing gently down to the now awake elfling. “Your father seems to be keeping secrets from me, little leaf,” you laughed, running her finger over Legolas’ small fist. “I imagine he has a plan, but alas he hasn’t said anything …”

Legolas shifted in your arms as you passed through the parlor and into the bedroom once more, his little mouth cracking into a large smile as he saw his father. “Ada!” he cooed.

Thranduil looked over his shoulder at the two of you, smiling sweetly as he plucked the crumpled piece of parchment from under your pillow. “Come back to bed, love,” he smirked, setting your pile of work you had left forgotten yesterday on your side table.

“I remember this being a much bigger problem yesterday,” you hummed. “Are you sure –?”

“You said so yourself, meleth nin,” he started, stepping toward you with an open palm. Slowly, he ran his hand over Legolas’ back, his other hand wrapping around your shoulders. “We do not spend much time with the little leaf. Another day of skirting our duties …. to care for our son.”

You laughed sweetly, letting Thranduil lean in and kiss you. Yesterday you had to practically beg for Thranduil to stay in bed, but, now, as you watched your husband pace about the room, setting everything up on the bed, you wondered just how big of a difference you had made in your husband. The King and Queen had duties to attend to, meetings and walks to take. The nannies could care for the Prince, as usual, until the time in the evening when you had free time to care for your son yourself.

Thranduil clearing his throat, a smirk on his features as he relaxed back into his pillows drew you from your thoughts. “Are you joining me?”

You laughed as you knelt back on the bed, letting the infant prince crawl over the covers. “You won’t let me use your back for a writing desk today?” you asked, looking to the small wooden lap desk Thranduil had placed on your side of the bed.

“I recall that not helping in your work, yesterday,” he smirked, tickling his quill over Legolas’s ear as the infant sat between you.

You smiled, leaning against Thranduil’s side as you brought the stack of parchments and books closer. As you settled into your own work, and Thranduil into his, absentmindedly eating the fruit, Legolas entertained himself, playing with a scrap of parchment, blotted out with ink spills from yesterday.

Thranduil relished in the soft voice you used as you spoke to your son. The Prince having curled up in your arms as you read through reports and missives, reading out the details to the infant, and taking his cooes and garbled speech into consideration.

Thranduil found his mind wondering as he tried to focus on his work, his quill hovering hesitantly over his papers as his attention turned to the stories and small conversations you were having with your son. Forcing his gaze to stay on his papers, he reread the same missive over and over again, the words incomprehensible no matter how many times he reread them.

“Now,” you started, voice soft and melodic as you hunched over Legolas as he sat in your lap. Thranduil’s gaze flicked from his book over to you, watching. Your hands held Legolas’, the crumpled sheaf of parchment in your hands now folded to look like an intricate flower. “Fold here …” you murmured, guiding Legolas’s hand along a crease in the paper, although you did all the work. “And here … And done!”

Legolas held the paper rose in his hands, smiling up to you as he craned his neck back. Jumping up, he crawled from your lap and sat before Thranduil, holding the flower out. “Ada!”

Thranduil chuckled, lifting his gaze from his book, knowing he would not be able to ignore the child’s games, especially when he noticed you sitting there, folding another flower from a ruined sheet of paper, mischievous smile on your face.

“That is a beautiful flower you have there, little one,” he murmured, setting his book down on his lap.

“Nana made it!”

You hummed, relaxing back into the pillows, shoulder pressed against Thranduil’s as you folded the last paper petal, holding the rose aloft to show him. “Perhaps I’ll make Ada an entire crown made of these,” you mused as Legolas crawled back into your lap, holding out his flower.

“The court will surely wonder at that,” Thranduil hummed, setting aside his book and quill and bringing up a stack of missives he had discarded in a pile last night. “But perhaps it will last longer than one season if you make it.” He reached out and tickled Legolas under the chin.

You smiled, shying away jokingly as Thranduil leaned in to kiss your cheek, giggling as Legolas followed and kissed your other cheek. Soon, paper roses littered the bed between the three of you, Thranduil helping Legolas fold the stems together to make a crown, just as you had taught him to make a daisy crown all those years ago.


End file.
